Dear Oblivion...
by stardust31685
Summary: A letter in Bill Weasley's POV. Takes place in the distant future. PG for extreme sadness.


AN: this is my first hp fic, so be kind. It's rather long but I thought it would be stupid to split it up into chapters. R/R if you feel like it.   
  
Thanks to all of my reviewers, you guys are the best... I'm serious, you really made my day... (all 38 of you!!!)  
  
I wasn't trying to be sexist when Ginny didn't become an auror... She had a different profession, that's all... I just didn't include it in the story. There also had to be a reason for her to be at home...  
  
Thanks again, everyone!!!  
  
Disclaimer: I own nothing but my imagination, nothing more, nothing less... The rest belongs to the great JKR.  
  
  
  
  
  
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In the year 2075 a l0 year old girl with flaming red hair is playing dress up in her grandmother's attic. Charity is her name. She tries on all kinds of odd garments, some of which are very, very old fashioned. She becomes intrigued by an extremely old looking, and very dusty trunk. She Removes the old wizard robes so that she would be able to move more freely and goes over to it. It was in a corner of the attic that she had never bothered to explore before. Too many spider webs and such. She looked around for a sharp object to pick the lock, like her grandmother had shown her how. She rejoiced when the lock clicked open. She Lifted the lid of the chest and started digging through it's contents. There were all sorts of old papers and things. She sneezed as a dust cloud arose around her. She suddenly came across a sealed envelope. It was sealed with blue wax. The handwriting was in blue ink. She wondered if she should open it. She decided that since it was in her grandmother's house, and it probably belonged to her grandmother, she should ask permission first. 'One never knows what sort of magic can come out of a single letter,' she thought, remembering the one time that she had received a howler from her grandmother for setting off fireworks in her previous and first year at Hogwarts. She quickly darts down the stairs to the kitchen, where a woman with gray hair, apparently her grandmother, is tending dinner on the stove.   
  
"Grandma?"  
  
"Yes dear?"  
  
"I found this in the attic, and I was wondering if I could open it. Do you recognize it? It was in this old chest that was practically hidden in the corner."  
  
Grandma takes the letter and examines it after she dons her spectacles.   
  
"In a chest, eh? Hmm... I don't ever recall seeing this."  
  
She shrugs and opens the letter. The ink on the parchment inside the envelope is also blue. It appears to be a letter. Grandma starts to read it. It reads:  
  
****  
  
  
  
Dear Oblivion,  
  
I know not whom to address this letter, since I have no idea whose hands it will fall into. All I know is, I have to write it, whether it is ever read or not. I only hope that whoever reads it appreciates the circumstances, however, I pray to God you don't directly identify with them, because I don't wish my fate on anyone. All that I ever had has been lost: friends, family, dignity, everything. All I have is time, and I hope that my time is short. One can not live as an empty person for very long.  
The dark days are upon us once more; darker than those of the past. Voldemort is back with a vengeance. I need not fear to speak or write his name anymore, he is back all the same, whether or not we call him by his name. The ministry is in disarray; it's non-existent really. The minister, Fudge, turned out to be a death eater. Wizard law pretty much fell apart after that. The Aurors took over. My father, my brothers, and I became Aurors as well, to help with the cause. We were heavily outnumbered, of course, so it was only a matter of time before all on the side of good would perish.   
The first to go was my brother Percy. God save him. He fought with all his heart. He put too much trust in people from the ministry. Barty Crouch, a man in the ministry that he so much adored, betrayed him. This lead to his death. The next to go was my brother Charlie. He was one of the bravest souls I ever met. He was caught and executed by the death eaters. They tortured him first, before they administered the instant death curse. Ron, my dear youngest brother Ron, followed him. He too became an Auror, at the young age of 17. The death eaters also caught him, 2 years later. They tortured him but let him live, just barely, so that he could experience more pain and suffering. They tortured him more than anyone else, just because he and his wife were so close to Harry Potter. When he finally did die, his wife, Hermione, committed suicide shortly after. She could not exist without her beloved Ron. They were only 19.   
After they died my mother contacted what was left of our family and begged us to come home. These 2 years were the saddest that the Weasley family had ever experienced. While all of the males were off fighting, my sister Ginny and my mother stayed home, praying for the best. With every death that occurred they slipped deeper and deeper into dispair. When all of us finally arrived home we sat down to dinner. There were 4 empty places at our table. Sadly we could finally all fit comfortably in the cramped kitchen. All that was left was my father, Fred, my mother, my sister, and myself. George was no where to be found and was presumed to be dead. Much to my mother's sadness, we had to leave again. Father, who had been injured several times in the line of duty, agreed to stay home and protect my mother and sister. He was getting a bit old to be fighting anyway.   
After we left home, Fred and I stayed together as long as we could, but were soon separated. I was captured and he wasn't. He died saving my life. He set off some fireworks to create a decoy so I could escape. When I did I tried to find him but he had been caught and killed on the spot. I held him in my arms when they went away from him. The site of my brother lying on the ground, broken and lifeless, when he was so full of life when he was alive, was permanently imprinted in my mind. Still I did not weep. His death put a force in me that was greater than any other that I had ever known. It was far more intense than sadness; it was revenge. I went into a rage. I laid him gently on the ground and stupidly ran into the death eater prison and started attacking everyone that I saw. All I kept seeing was the image of my only surviving brother lying on the ground lifeless. I killed several men, but was soon outnumbered and captured. I was put into a cell and was tortured. I won't even write the things that they did to me, they are too horrible to speak of.   
For a time I just sat in my cell, biding my time, wracking my brain for plans of escape. Weeks passed. I was tortured daily. Then, one day, the guards flung a man into the cell next to me. His hair was dark brown and matted. He was so thin, he looked like a skeleton with a thin layer of paper covering it. He was unconscious.   
I couldn't tell if he was alive or dead. His face faced the opposite wall. Hours passed and no sign of life came from him. Then, there was a low moan. It didn't look like he could move anything but his head. He lifted his head and slowly turned to take in his surroundings. As his face turned towards me, I recognized it at once. It was Harry Potter. I didn't know if he would recognize me so I asked him if he did. 'Bill? Is that you?' he whispered, unable to talk any louder. 'Yes, Harry,' I whispered back. 'Oh, Bill, I'm so, so sorry about your family. When I heard about all of their deaths it was like I had lost-' he started coughing violently, and his whole body went ridged. 'Don't talk, Harry,' I whispered, but he continued anyway. 'I had lost my own brothers, but-' he began coughing again, this time, blood came out of his mouth. 'Stop, Harry, stop talking,' I pleaded. But he kept going, 'I must tell you something, before I die.' 'Don't talk like that Harry, we're going to be all right, we'll get out of here, you'll see,' I said, trying to convince myself the same, but he just shook his head. 'You're the only one left. Your parents, Ginny, they're all gone.' Tears were pouring down his face now, as he lay on the floor, unable to move. 'What do you mean?' I squeaked. 'Voldemort got them. I went to save them, but I was too late. I found your parents' bodies, but Ginny was gone completely. She must have been completely obliterated. Then the captured me when they found me at the burrow. They brought me here after they beat-' he broke off again, sobbing and coughing. When he spoke those words I think my heart shattered. I wept uncontrollably for a long time. So did Harry until he quieted and then silenced. He was dead. So that was it. Everything that I had ever loved was gone. I had nothing left to live for. Even if one of my siblings had made it I would make myself stay alive for them. But there is no one.   
So, as I write this letter, in this cell, I declare that evil has won this battle. And as this poison starts to take effect, I say farewell, to whoever you are, reading this letter. I can only hope, in death, that good will be triumphant in the war. I guess I shall never know.   
  
  
William Weasley  
  
  
  
  
*****  
As the grandmother read the last bit of the letter she began to sob uncontrollably. Charity tried to comfort her grandmother and at the same time ask her why she was so upset. She had no idea why she was crying, she had never met or heard about anyone named William. When her grandmother's sobs subsided slightly, Charity spoke again.  
  
"Grandmother, why are you so upset? Who is this William? Did you know him or something?"  
  
The grandmother wiped her eyes and replied.  
  
"Yes, I knew him. Very well in fact."  
  
"Well, who was he then. Wait a minute, isn't your name Ginny? You're alive. He said you died... I don't understand."  
  
"William Weasley was my eldest brother. Dear Harry thought I was dead. He must have told Bill so when they last met. I had escaped. Just when Voldemort had come for my parents I managed to escape. Maybe if he knew I was alive he would have lived...maybe..."  
  
She trailed off.  
  
"Who was this Voldemort, anyway? Why did he kill your parents? What are Aurors? Who was Harry Potter"  
  
The grandmother managed a weak smile. She sat down at the table and patted the seat next to her. She knew that it would take a long time to explain the answers to these questions.  
  
"Well, honey, I'll start off by answering your last question. Harry Potter was known as 'the boy who lived...'"   
  
  
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AN: bad ending, I know, but R/R if you want to... tell me what you think!  
  
A lot of people are asking me to continue this fic, but I'm not too sure where I want to go with it yet. My river of creative juices is on the dry side lately... I NEED YOU GUYS' IDEAS!!!!!! Thanks in advance!!!!!!!  



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